


Mr. Jopson Will Bend Back Over Himself to Please You

by for_autumn_i_am



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: A Taste of Rimming, Attempt at Humor, Autofellatio, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Established Relationship, Feral Little, First Time, Good Ol' Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon: 1845, That's a First! (For Him and For Me As An Author Too), Twitter: terror_exe Flash Fest, Virgin Thomas Jopson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_autumn_i_am/pseuds/for_autumn_i_am
Summary: Thomas Jopson demonstrates autofellatio for Lieutenant Edward Little's viewing pleasure, and also to make a point.For the@terror_exe prompt"thomas jopson/thomas jopson,non-linear narrative,first time, tender oral sex"
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 31
Kudos: 86
Collections: @terror_exe Flash Fest





	Mr. Jopson Will Bend Back Over Himself to Please You

“You haven’t been honest with me, Mr. Jopson,” Edward says, voice no more than a rasp; but no-one could berudge him for it, as it is difficult to speak, indeed, when one is having his prick fellated.

The task of talking is, of course, much more challenging for the giver; Jopson must pull off Edward’s cock to reply. “I would think my character beyond reproach, sir.” His voice is gruff; his lips shine with saliva, a string of which still connects him to Edward’s prick as he kneels on the cabin floor. His fist moves over the shaft to make up for the absence of his eager mouth, but it has no hope to ever be so tight, soft and warm. Edward seeks its wet heat with a poke of his prick, but Jopson closes his lips resolutely, the twist of his fingers just a tad too forceful as he arches a perfect brow.

“I meant it as a compliment,” Edward pants, seeking leverage on the wall as his knees threaten to collapse: that stern look suits Jopson so, it nearly pushes him over into the abyss.

“I will take the questioning of my honesty in the kind spirit it was intended,” Jopson says dryly, and bows his head. A month ago, Edward would have been confused by the reproach: but he has learnt to read Jopson’s moods, understand his humour. He tips Jopson’s chin up, fucks into his mouth, cradling his jaw. For a moment, he is lost in admiring the sight of Jopson’s head bobbing, his hair falling into disarray. Edward had stripped him of his uniform and kept his own on: he loves Jopson naked, unmarked—not the captain’s steward, but a lieutenant’s lover, his to keep, to use. He nudges Jopson’s cock with the toe of his boot, and hears him moan.

“You possess far too much talent,” Edward teases, “to be a novice. You told me you never had a man but me.”

Jopson pulls back, looks up: his eyes are blue and wide, giving him a look of unblemished innocence even with the tip of Edward’s wet prick resting over his lower lip. “I spoke truly, sir,” he says, his pride now wounded; what a monster Edward could be, to ever hurt such a generous, kind man, who offered him his intimate services when they were the most needed! The nights are long, wintering by Beechey: they were desolate and solitary before Jopson came.

Edward drops to his knees and kisses him soundly. Kissing, they have done a fair deal: when Jopson confessed to be a virgin, Edward vowed to take his time with him, be gentle and tame. The promise is tarnishing with every evening they manage to steal away, for Jopson is always begging to prove his worth: how sweetly he pleaded to be allowed the privilege to fellate him!

“You must be a natural talent,” Edward says hotly, between feverish kisses, “your tongue puts a weathered sodomite such as I to shame!”

“I had some practice, sir,” Jopson confesses modestly, but his cheeks colour with the praise. Edward laughs—a rare sound; but Jopson brings him much joy. He cups his flushed face to behold him. Jopson is twenty-nine of age; he joined the navy too late for the fraternizing of midshipmen that taught Edward his own unusual desires. 

“What’s this, then?” Edward teases, wiping Jopson’s reddened lips with a thumb. “Are you the sort of man who swears his purity, just on virtue of never having been penetrated, when you have done all else?”

“I made my own way, sir,” Jopson says enigmatically, “and never touched another until I was compelled to seek you out; you gave me such encouraging looks! You must understand that our lives are different: back home, I live in close quarters with my family, and never felt the confidence to risk my reputation; it’d be my ruin.” He buries his face in the crook of Edward’s shoulder, and whispers, “You won’t ruin me, will you, sir?”

“Never; just explain me this conundrum,” Edward says softly, over the thudding of his heart. He wants to be deserving of Jopson’s trust; whatever the church preaches, being with him has made him a better man: happier, and much more reliable in but a handful of weeks. He never had the desire to take care of somebody; to caress them like he caresses Jopson’s back, ignoring his softening cock, his desire of a swift climax, just to console his beloved. By Jove: Edward is quite in love with this cherub.

“I discovered how to fellate myself on my antarctic voyage,” Jopson says simply.

Edward’s hand stills; his cock stiffens; he imagines the unimaginable.

“That’s quite impossible,” he says.

Jopson pulls back, squinting at him; his nose is scrunched up most adorably. “I pride myself on my candour, sir,” he says, “and that pride has been suffering some abuse today by your hand.” He rises to his feet. Edward reaches for him, grasping his wrist; he kisses his knuckles in apology, but before he could put into words how sorry he is, Jopson announces, “I shall demonstrate.”

Edward can only gape at him. He remains on his knees as Jopson steps to his berth, throws a look over his shoulder, almost a challenge. He does not let go of Edward’s gaze as he lays down on his back—as if he would ever look away! What a sight it is—Jopson in his bed, with the memory of the wild claim he made.

Edward watches in awe as he kicks his legs up, supports his hips with his hands—graceful like an athlete; he bends just as easily; his feet touch the mattress above his head, and his long, delicate cock hangs, pink and erect. Jopson cranes his neck and curls his tongue. He licks a long, wet stripe over the slit.

A noise is made; Edward is responsible for it—an animal whimper of desire. He never fathomed, never thought anyone, least of all Jopson, to be capable of such a feat; lovely Jopson, always so amiable! Why, when they first kissed, Edward felt him harden in his trousers; when he first pulled him off, Jopson climaxed in a matter of minutes, panting soundlessly into Edward’s mouth; he was sensitive all over, most of all his nipples, and so touch-starved a simple caress would bring him ecstasy.

The Jopson in front of him is a different creature entirely. He is all Edward wants: the soft fuzz over his chest, the shapely arms, long legs, his petite arse on display, and that delectable cock of his: how he sucks, nibbles and licks at it; the exalted look on his face—he is the very image of male erotica. Narcissus would not be his match: Jopson is his own lover, lapping at his cock delicately, sucking the tip into his waiting mouth. Edward is wild with want. He does not walk but _crawls_ to the bed, on his hands and knees. 

Jopson releases his own cock with a wet pop, breathing with effort. “Am I to be believed now, sir?” he pants as Edward kneels behind him; as Jopson begins to sit up, Edward catches his legs, bends him back; looks his fill from the flush of Jopson’s face to the pucker of his arse.

“Such a rare talent,” he grumbles as Jopson gasps, that lovely sound he makes when he is pleased. “It should be rewarded.” He kisses the back of his thighs, cups his little bum. Notes that his balls are taut: he is close. “You can ask of me whatever you need,” Edward goes on. “I wish to service you, clever thing.”

“Would that please you, sir?” Jopson inquires, tone even enough to be used in the wardroom. That will not do: Edward bends forward to lick into his arse. Jopson cries out, then covers his mouth.

“You have something better to bite on,” Edward reminds him gently. “Come on, Mr. Jopson. Suck your cock.”

Jopson writhes; a drop falls from the tip of his cock to his neck, remains there like a trembling pearl. “Will you have me if I do, sir?”

“Of course,” Edward says, his head swimming. What an exquisite wish: it honours him more than any promotion would. He licks over Jopson’s arse again, who takes himself back into his mouth, sucking on it with the finesse of a connoisseur. Edward is mindful of the fragile position as he kneels up, grabs a bottle of oil from his shelf. He holds Jopson’s knees as he lays his prick over the crack of his arse, lubricating himself while Jopson moans around a mouthful of his own cock. His flexibility suits the circus, but should be demonstrated to a much more select audience; Edward only, if he is found deserving. Jopson is sharing a rare treasure with him—the discovery of his talent dwarfs the inevitable reveal of the North-West Passage.

Edward sinks into him.

Jopson squeezes his eyes shut, and his cock slides free as he arches his neck, cries out soundlessly; but oh, he is quick to chase after his cock, for that is what Edward requested of him, and Jopson lives to oblige.

Edward regards his prize, moving slowly; he avoids any jostling, thrusting, to keep Jopson safe. Jopson is tight around him, pulsing with heat, clenching around Edward’s cock in an erratic rhythm—inexperienced, yes, but far from clumsy: Jopson could never be anything less than perfect.

“I wish I sailed to Antarctica with you,” Edward growls, fucking him full: he wants Jopson to be filled with him, dripping with his claim well into the second dog’s watch. “I would have warmed your cot while you sucked your cock, watched you do it every evening, instructed you: that’s it… that’s it…”

“Sir,” Jopson gasps, eyes falling shut. His dark hair is a halo, in stark contrast with the sheets; it is so good to see colour in his cheeks, to know that Edward made him like this—but also that Jopson himself, ever so capable, has brought himself this pleasure.

“Open your mouth,” Edward orders, diving deeper. “Pull yourself off.”

Jopson obeys, keeping his eyes on him. To think that he underestimated him: wasted him on fumblings—but were they a waste, really? For the gentleness of those experiences opened to this: watching Jopson spill over his neck, his lips, giving a muffled moan of rapture as Edward fucks him tirelessly, utterly in awe of him.

“You’re exceptional,” he says. “Mr. Jopson, you are a wonder.”

Jopson’s smile is radiant, the afterglow of pleasure softening his features. His skin burns bright in the night; he stretches his arms out and allows Edward to service him, for once, he lets him, and it is the utmost privilege.

As Jopson’s head rolls to the side, Edward espies the shine of his essence on his cheek, and spills seeing it. He empties himself with a boorish grunt, bending forward and shaking, his hair falling into his face; he used to despise this moment of carnal embrace: the humiliation of ecstasy; but Jopson encourages him with a roll of his hips, and moves with him until the world halts its spinning.

For a moment, everything is still.

When Edward pulls out, no pitying look is spared to his softening prick: rather, Jopson looks ravenous eyeing it, even with the come drying on his face, leaking from his well-used hole in thick white stripes. Edward sits back and pulls Jopson into his lap, who presses close to him, an elated laugh escaping him before he claims Edward’s mouth, sharing his taste.

“I am an honest man,” Jopson whispers against his salt-tinted lips, straddling his hips. He is wet, sticky, filthy—and Edward adores him. 

“I will never ever take your words or your honour in vain,” he swears. If he is honest with himself, he is somewhat frightened to think what else Jopson might have up his sleeve: what queer mysteries. He holds him close, taking in his scent, the sweat he can so rarely sample, for Jopson is neat and proper, but he is also _this_ , a man who would bend to suck his own cock while someone buggers his arse, and most importantly—that someone is Edward: he is lucky enough to call a man such as Jopson his lover. Edward licks Jopson’s face clean, not minding decorum, rank; they want each other—and in that want, they are equal.

**Author's Note:**

> The fic was inspired by a [terror_exe tweet](https://twitter.com/forautumniam/status/1266373140134760450) and written within four hours of seeing it, because I have no self control.  
> Thanks to [@ktula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktula) for the super quick beta read!  
> You can reblog the fic [here 💞](https://longstoryshortikilledhim.tumblr.com/post/619475363524935680/oh-jopson-hell-bend-back-over-himself-to-please)


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